


when you're not here i'm suffocating

by LadyAlice101



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternative Clarke Returns fic, Canon Divergent, F/M, Post Season 2, Season 3 doesn't happen, Sharing a Bed, Some angst, mostly clarke and bellamy loving each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAlice101/pseuds/LadyAlice101
Summary: Bellamy had been preparing to leave the following day to find Clarke. She saved him the trouble and showed up in the evening, when the sun was touching the tip of the surrounding mountains and drenching everything in orange.--Basically just an AU post-Season 2, where Clarke comes back and she and Bellamy realise they love each other.





	when you're not here i'm suffocating

**Author's Note:**

> Title, opening paragraph, and song lyrics in the story are from Sam Smith's "Writing on the Wall". 
> 
> I started this way back before season 3 aired, finished before season 4 aired, and am only just getting around to posting it haha. 
> 
> My first foray into The 100 fandom, but I assure you, I have so many WIPs I'm sure it won't be the last.
> 
> Final scene with Clarke inspired by Deathly Hallows part 1.

_How do I live? How do I breathe?_

_When you're not here I'm suffocating_

_I want to feel love run through my blood_

_Tell me is this where I give it all up?_

 

Bellamy had been preparing to leave the following day to find Clarke. She saved him the trouble and showed up in the evening, when the sun was touching the tip of the surrounding mountains and drenching everything in orange.

The alarm had been sounded when the guards saw someone approaching the camp, and Bellamy had been the first leader to arrive. By that point, the guards had realized the body was enemy not foe, but Bellamy knew who it was before anyone else. By the time she reached the gate, a crowd had gathered – he should have known word would travel fast – and he had to elbow through people to get to her. The people around them stared at her in awe, surprise. Beside him, he heard a gasp, and he didn’t have to look to know it was Abby beside him.

Despite Abby’s presence, Bellamy was the first to reach her. He didn’t stop when he finally broke through the crowd, didn’t stop when he knew her mother was beside him and should probably greet her first, and especially didn’t stop when she spotted him and looked at him like he’s the only one she wanted to see.

Their hug was reminiscent of when he had first arrived at Camp Jaha, when she had run to him so fast he had barely seen her before she’d barreled into him and encompassed him in about the tightest hug he’d ever received.

While he didn’t run to her, he sure did hug her to him as tight as he could; he probably wouldn’t have let go of her even if she’d said she couldn’t breathe. Lucky she didn’t.

Finally, when they broke apart, Bellamy realized that Abby was standing beside them, shifting anxiously. As soon as Bellamy was out of the way, Abby embraced her daughter in a hug not quite as tight as his own.

Several others approached, wanting to welcome her. He didn’t move very far from her. When Raven and Clarke came face to face, Clarke finally started to cry and whispered, “I’m sorry,” over and over again. Bellamy thought that maybe he even saw Raven cry.

“I know,” he heard Raven say. “I’m still so fucking angry, but I don’t think it’s at you anymore.”

Clarke only holds her tighter.

After what feels like forever, dinner is called, and the masses vacate in favour of food. Bellamy sees Jasper linger, watching Monty, Raven, and Abby smile and hug Clarke again. Jasper leaves before the three turn to receive their food.

Bellamy still doesn’t leave her side.

“I have some food in my tent,” Bellamy says, and fuck him if that’s not the stupidest thing to say to the girl he hadn’t spoken to in months.

But she only smiles likes it’s the best thing he could have said, and says, “Looking to you.”

His heart squeezes painfully, because _god,_ has it been that long since he said those same words to her? He only turns and leads her to his lone tent. Its located on the far side of the Camp, its solidarity making Clarke raises an eyebrow. He shrugs, and she smiles knowingly.

Those who could slept inside Alpha Station, preferring the comfortable beds they’d grown up with. Out of necessity, some lived in tents milled around the entrance to the Station, mostly guards who had to awaken at a moment’s notice. Only he, Octavia and Lincoln choose to sleep outside, because why the fuck would they want to return to the metal ship that had imprisoned them for so long when they had perfectly good bed rolls and tents.

Bellamy also liked being alone.

He has a little fire pit in front of his small tent, a pile of rocks beside the black ring. He can get a fire going in two minutes (he’s had a lot of time to practice with winter quickly approaching) so he goes inside to grab the small pot he’d stolen and a couple ingredients for a stew (it will be mediocre, nothing like what is probably being served, but also likely better than whatever she’d been eating for months). When he returns, she’s sitting beside a newly lit fire, and fuck if he’s not impressed with his princess because she got it started in one minute.

The sun continues to dip below the mountains, and by the time the stew is ready he can see her only by the light of the fire.

Maybe his first question should have been more sensitive. It’s the only one he cares about, though. “Where did you go?”

The only sign that the question affects her is that her spoon stops swirling in the hot soup momentarily. She still answers him immediately.

He’s missed her voice.

“I went to Mount Weather,” she says, then whispers, “I buried them.” The silence lasts only several seconds, then she clears her throat. “Then I went east, to the sea. There was nothing there, so I turned back. I stopped by TonDC, but only for a couple days. Then I slowly made my way back here. I didn’t really mean to, but two days ago I was at the dropship and I realized - . . .”

She paused and looks up to him. “I missed you.”

He doesn’t know if that is the end of her sentence, or if she said it as a substitute, but he doesn’t really care because, “I missed you, too.”

They eat the rest of their soup in silence. He takes another serving, and so does she, but she only eats half of it, while he finishes it off.

He puts the rocks into the fire to warm them, and then she asks her first question.

“What have you been doing?”

His eyebrows furrow as he thinks about what he’s done with his time for seven months. He didn’t take up a trade, or take a regular post (though of course he still goes out), or even take up a leadership position (even though the people still looked to him first – he thinks that’s only because of Clarke’s absence).

He has only one answer. “Taking care of them.”

It seems as though their night is going to be quiet – he’d always imagined they wouldn’t be able to stop talking when he saw her again – because she just puts her hand in his and stares into the fire.

Finally, when only embers remain and a chill has settled deep into Clarke’s bones, Bellamy stands up to go to bed.

He doesn’t ask if she wants to stay, and she doesn’t ask to stay, but she helps him pick up the rocks with blankets and carry them in and place them under his bedroll. He takes off his clothes and so does she, and he replaces them with clean ones and she just takes from his pile. He notices how thin she’s become; her ribs are showing, but she’s kept muscle in her arms and legs, and he supposes that’s all that matters.

They climb into bed together, neither saying a word.

His only hesitation is when she lays her head on his chest, her body pressed entirely into his, and he doesn’t know if it’s appropriate to wrap his arms around her.

But he does, because goddamn it all if he isn’t in love with her, and he hasn’t seen her in months, and like fuck he’s going to pass up the opportunity.

For the first time since they can remember, they wake up well rested, having slept without nightmares.

 

* * *

 

She fits into Camp life perfectly. She, too, doesn’t assume leadership, though those around them still look at her like she’s in charge. Instead, she takes a post beside her mother, because she’s convinced it’s the only way she can help people, because everything else she’s done in attempt has been fucked up.

She already knows a lot from her time on the Ark helping her mom, and has picked up even more skills from helping her people, and from surviving on her own. Abby doesn’t need to teach her much, because these days most adult injuries come from sparring and child injures come from playing. Sometimes people get sick, or are out hunting and get attacked (Clarke is told that it’s never by Grounders), so Abby still attempts to teach Clarke things she doesn’t know.

Every day, she and Bellamy meet to have lunch together in silence. Every night, they have dinner, usually sitting alone but sometimes joined by Abby or Raven, or even Octavia and Lincoln, and then they go to Bellamy’s tent – their tent – to talk and laugh, and eventually sleep.

She’d been allocated her own room, which she’d declined in favour of her own tent, which she’d pitched next to Bellamy’s. She doesn’t really _ask_ him, but when he returns in the evening and his tent has a partner, she is waiting for him with a lit fire, her fingers twiddling, which he understands means she’s nervous. He just smiles at her and sits down at their fire.

She sleeps in her own tent the first night, the second night of her return, but the weather had finally turned, and he only had enough rocks for one bed roll. He gave them to her, of course, but then he’s fucking freezing and not proud enough to stay and ride it out. So he gets up and goes into her tent and bumps into her as she’s leaving.

“Oh!” She smiles a little. “I was just coming to see if you wanted to come in here. I’m even cold _with_ the rocks, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.”

He smirks, lopsided, and he turns her by her shoulders back towards the bed. He gets in first, because despite him having been laying in bed cold for hours, he knows men hold heat better than women, so he figures it’s best if he’s by the lining of the tent.

They both have socks on, but she presses her feet into his calves and he can still feel their cold. They sleep the same way as they had the night before, their arms wrapped around each other and her head on his chest.

Clarke wants to hitch her leg up over Bellamy’s thigh, tangle their legs together (to keep warm, of course), but she isn’t sure he’ll be comfortable with that level of contact, so she (kind of) leaves her legs to herself. When they wake up in the morning, her back is pressed to his chest and their legs _are_ tangled. She slips out first, not wanting to wake him, and takes off her shirt to put on a bra. When she turns around his eyes are trained on her and she raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to be up yet,” he says. “The sun has only just come over the mountains.”

She nods and picks up her shirt.

“You also don’t have to put that back on,” he smirks and she rolls her eyes, but drops it and slides in.

Their skin is slick, because despite the chill last night its already starting to warm up. They lay chest to chest, her head tucked under his chin, her ear on his heart.

“Bellamy?” she whispers.

“Yeah, Princess?”

She smiles against his skin at the nickname. “Your heart is beating really fast.”

He pauses, then says, “So is yours,” and they go back to sleep in each other’s arms.

 

* * *

 

 

They pretend they sleep in different tents – they lie to themselves as well as everyone else – because _technically_ that’s true. They always start in their own tents. Inevitably, one of them always switches. It becomes a pattern, until one day when Clarke gets up from Bellamy’s bed to get dressed (Bellamy had jokingly introduced a rule where if one was shirtless the other had to be as well – he didn’t actually expect her to go along with it, but he should have because he’s never known Clarke to back down from a challenge) and she has a pile of her clothes next to his.

“You had a pile in my tent!” She shrugs at his questioning gaze. “I evened the playing field.”

He rolls his face in the pillow and laughs, then turns to look at her, his eyes crinkled from his smile, and she thinks he’s never looked so beautiful.

“I guess that’s fair. Why don’t we get rid of the field altogether and you just bring all your things here?”

He doesn’t stutter, his voice doesn’t break, but now his eyes are crinkling for a different reason and Clarke was wrong before; he looks more beautiful now.

She smiles, because that must mean he needs her as much as she needs him and like fuck she’s going to deny herself the opportunity to be closer to him more often (she tells herself its not because she’s more than a little in love with him).

So she nods, too, and drops the shirt she was about to put on in favour of slipping back into bed with him; "Just one more minute," she mumbles against his bare chest, and her open, wet lips on his chest is the best thing he's felt in months.

They fall back asleep.

Some people begin to notice Bellamy's new sleeping times. He used to be one of the first up, and one of the last to bed, but now he joins them later, and leaves them sooner. One morning they're running particularly late - Clarke and Bellamy are relishing in the fact they go to bed together and wake together - and they arrive to breakfast as it’s being packed up.

Raven and Wick are still sitting when the pair arrives, and Bellamy still hasn't pulled on his jacket and Clarke hasn't braided her front hair back yet.

Before they reach them, Raven puts the cup to her lips and mutters to Wick, "They finally fucked, then," and he chokes on the sip of coffee he'd just taken because he's laughing.

When the tardy pair finally reaches them, they both look suspicious, and Raven has schooled her features to impassive, but Wick is a fucking idiot because he's still laughing (it really wasn't that funny).

But Bellamy and Clarke say nothing so neither does Raven. And then Bellamy leaves just as she thinks of the perfect snipe, and Raven doesn't yet feel comfortable enough with Clarke to share a dirty joke with her, despite Clarke having been back for weeks now, so Raven just turns to Wick, who helps her get up and they leave Clarke alone in silence.

When Clarke finally reaches the refurbished Clinic in Alpha Station, Abby is just sitting quietly, doing paperwork, as no one is there this morning.

Clarke sits beside her, and Abby doesn't say anything about the time. The day passes quickly, only a couple people coming, mostly to talk to Abby. Neither mentions Clarke’s tardiness, until they’re both alone. Finally her mother opens her mouth to say something, but is silenced because there's a commotion outside and suddenly someone is being carried in and laid down on the multi purpose operating table and Clarke stops breathing because it's Bellamy.

He's not bleeding, but he's not conscious, and Clarke starts to panic immediately. The strangled cry from her lips has her mother looking to her to make sure she's okay, but Clarke's focus is on Bellamy, so Abby turns her attention there, too.

Clarke is supposed to ask if it was an attack, if the guard should be altered, but she doesn't, so Abby does.

"No, he just tripped and fell down this hill, but he hit his head on a rock!"

Clarke has never known Bellamy to be that fucking clumsy so she glares at the guy delivering the information who inhales sharply at her dangerous gaze.

"Okay, of the younger guys tripped into Bellamy and accidentally pushed him down!"

Clarke's hand doesn't leave Bellamy’s the whole time her mother inspects him, and even when she announces it’s just a concussion and he'll wake soon, Clarke doesn't move an inch.

When he wakes up, its only twenty minutes, but despite her mother telling her it was completely fine, and knowing herself that he would be okay, she’s so relieved he’s awake that she starts to cry.

He looks completely bewildered, but despite his headaches he props himself and cups her cheek.

“Clarke?” he whispers, and Abby realises this moment is important so she leaves the two to themselves.

“I can’t – I don’t – I just -.” Her head falls to rest on his stomach, one hand clutching his pants the other still holding his hand, and he lies back down and just holds her hand because he gets it. And he starts to hope that maybe she loves him the same way he loves her.

She only cries for a minute, then sits up and rubs her nose. She leans over to grab a small flashlight, then stands up and looks into his eyes.

She clicks it off then sits down again. “You should probably stay here, tonight.” He frowns at her. “But I don’t want you to.”

“I’ll be in good hands, I’m sure,” he smirks at her.

Abby comes back in a couple minutes later and Clarke tells her that she’s going to take Bellamy back to their tent.

Abby ignores Clarke’s use of _their,_ not his, but Bellamy doesn’t.

Her mother looks dubious, but says, “Wake him up every two hours.”

“I know.”

“And-“

“I _know_.”

“Right. Of course . . . and no _strenuous_ activity.”

Bellamy chuckles and Clarke looks mortified, and just to make it worse, Abby adds, “I mean, no sex tonight,” as if they didn’t get it before.

So Clarke just squares her shoulders and says, “It’ll probably make him feel better.” And then she helps him up and leads him out, without looking at her mother or at him. When they get outside Alpha, Bellamy starts to laugh again, but Clarke is less than amused so she just glares at the ground as they walk.

People part for her.

When they reach their tent, dinner has been over for an hour, so she settles him down on the ground and lights a fire. Their food is mediocre but not tasteless, and they eat in mostly silence. Half the time his words are slurred and disjointed, but the other half he engages easily.

She puts him in bed first, then takes off her shirt (because he took his off).

“I think we should introduce a new rule,” he states, staring at her from the bed as she gets ready to join him. “Like the shirt one, but with pants.”

She rolls her eyes and says, “Tomorrow,” then snuggles under the covers with him.

He nods slightly. “Probably a good idea.” Then he says mockingly, “No strenuous activity allowed, tonight.”

She runs her palm down his stomach, dangerously low, and his breath hitches, and she says, “Not so funny now, huh.”

He doesn’t reply.

Bellamy falls asleep quickly, as expected, but Clarke stays awake all night to wake him up every two hours.

And to make sure he’s always breathing.

 

* * *

 

People don’t stop asking how he is the next day, and it irritates them both so much that Clarke has to leave him and do something else for a while, and he sits broodingly, glaring so fiercely no one dares go close.

Except Raven.

She sits down across from him at the table, her food tray clattering loudly. He may be pretending to be okay, but the ferocious headache that woke him up that morning hasn’t eased in the slightest.

“So,” Raven says, buttering a bread roll. “Heard you’re a clumsy fuck.”

She dips her bread into her bowl of soup and takes a big bite.

“Only if you believe the story where I tripped and wasn’t pushed.”

She shrugs, swallowing her bite. “Clarke wouldn’t have fallen.”

“Yes, my balance is inferior to hers.”

Raven shrugs at his tone, and takes another bite. Her spoon clanks on her tray, and her bowl, the sound echoing around Bellamy’s head fiercely.

“Raven,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, “stop making so much noise.”

“At least I haven’t asked how you’re feeling.” She grins at him, but does stop making so much noise.

His shoulder’s relaxes a tiny bit.

Clarke joins him only ten minutes later.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

He glares at her.

“For medical reasons.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Headache. A bit dizzy. Nauseous. Fucking tired.”

“That’s good!” She smiles at him.

He tries to smile back, and Clarke smothers a laugh at his expression.

A warm flush had settled during the day, and when Clarke and Bellamy enter their tent for bed that night, Bellamy announces that tonight is the perfect time to formally introduce their “I’m not wearing pants so you can’t either” rule, and Clarke just shrugs and takes off her clothes before he does.

He stares at her, partly in surprise, partly just admiring her, and she rolls her eyes and steps forward, twice, and pulls his shirt up and over his head. She pushes his pants down and when he steps out of them, they’re chest to chest, their skin barely touching.

Time stops.

When their lips first touch its slow. They part quickly, but come together a second, third, and fourth time, each time longer, more exploratory, more loving. He takes her hand and pulls her to their bed, and he gets in first and she follows quickly, seeking warmth and him.

They continue to kiss, deeply but slowly, and they talk, more freely than they’d dared before. His hands don’t leave her waist, tightening when they kiss, and drawing patterns when they don’t, and her fingers tap on his chest, drumming out her favourite love song that she hadn’t heard since her father was floated.

_When you’re not here I’m suffocating . . ._

“I think,” he says, long after they’ve gone to bed but long before they go to sleep, “that since I’m bare skin, you should be too. Take your bra off.”

He’s seen her without a bra a lot, because more often than not she slept without it. But that had been before when it was – arguably – platonic. This is different.

“Wow,” she smirks, “so demanding. If you want it off, do it yourself.”

She arches her back slightly, and his hand slides over her skin, slowly, smoothly, his fingers tips raising goosebumps where they touched.

They’re so close that he doesn’t have to move forward much to kiss her shoulder. He kisses her sweetly, her breath hitching as he bites her collarbone, his tongue making her forget his mission. When he pulls away, her bra is almost entirely off, but he can’t slide the strap down one arm because she’s laying on it.

She raises an eyebrow and nods in approval. “Impressive.”

He smirks at her, and if she weren’t already extremely turned on, that look would make her wet in seconds.

His hand slips down the curve of her back quickly, and he says, “You don’t even know the half of it,” as he squeezes her ass. His hand stays under the band of her panties as he slides it to the front. He presses one finger over her folds, and the moan she makes when he brushes her clit makes him want to do nothing but make her make that noise again. Preferably, for the rest of his life.

He slides one finger into her, and she makes the noise again, and he makes one pretty similar because, “You’re so fucking wet.”

She opens her eyes halfway, and looks at him. “What happens when you tease a girl, Bell – _Bellamy_.”

He hadn’t been meaning to make her say his name like that when he added another finger, but he thinks it’s the second best thing he’s ever heard (first was the moan).

He presses his lips against hers, this kiss the hungriest they’ve shared, and he rubs his thumb against her clit, her teeth biting down on his bottom lip at the sudden additional pleasure.

“Say my name again,” he growls, his world entirely consumed by Clarke and what she feels like.

“Bellamy,” she breathes, her back arching, her chest tight against his. Her arm rests on his shoulder, and one grips the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging harder and harder as the sensations roll over her. “Fuck, _Bellamy,_ make me come.”

His fingers curl inside her, his thumb precise, and her eyes roll back as her orgasm hits hard and fast, so unexpected her mouth pops open in a silent scream. He coaxes her through it, adding to her pleasure so much her body spasms.

When she finally relaxes she rolls over onto her back, her breath still heavy and her heart still racing. He cleans his fingers by putting them in his mouth, and she turns her head to him, a smile tugging at her lips.

“You weren’t joking.”

“Why would I ever lie to you, Princess?”

His wet fingers slide across her stomach and up to cup her breast.

“Well,” she says as rolls back over to face him, “I have a few talents of my own.”

She palms him through his underwear, and Clarke smirks at the grunt that escapes his lips. She leans forward and tugs his bottom lip between her teeth. She bites down gently, and sucks it into her mouth, her tongue running across.

His fingers dig into the skin at her hip tightly, and he grunts with the effort of loosening his fingers so they don’t bruise her.

She smiles against his mouth, then uses the hand that isn’t occupied to guide one of his to squeeze her hips again. He does. She teases him for another minute, then dips her hand below the waistband of his underwear to hold his hardened length. She works him for less than a minute, because then he grabs her wrist and pulls it above her head, while he rolls on top of her; his body supported by his other arm.

He enters her slowly, and they set an agonizingly beautiful pace, their hips rocking together rhythmically, their hearts beating in synchronisation.

She’d call it making love, if she really knew what that meant. She was almost sure this was it.

She climaxes first, her back arching and her eyes closing, and he follows soon after. Afterwards, he settles in between her thighs, his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat. It’s in time with his, and he thinks it’s beautifully symbolic of their relationship.

When he feels his eyes drifting closed, he moves off her, knowing if he doesn’t now he’ll likely crush her in his sleep. She shifts with him, and they seamlessly move into another position. They’re both on their sides, facing each other, and he rests his arm on her waist, his large hand splayed across her small back.

Tiredly, she whispers against his chest, “In summer, we’ll start the ‘no clothes’ rule.”

She yawns, her lips brushing his skin and he breathes out a chuckle.

As consciousness slips from him, he whispers into the darkness, “I love you.”

He thinks he hears her say it back.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up the next morning, he isn’t worried that she’s not beside him. He can tell he’s woken up later than normal because the sun is in a different position to usual. He starts to think something’s wrong when he realizes she only left the tent in a pair of jeans and his favourite shirt.

He frowns when he sees her boots. She never leaves the tent without them on.

He dresses himself quickly, then walks from his tent, frowning at his surroundings. It’s too late. She would never wear what she is in outside when this many people are around. He goes back in and grabs his gun.

He starts to panic when he doesn’t see her at breakfast. He see’s Abby, and in a fluster he grabs her arm.

“Have you seen Clarke?”

Abby shakes her head. “Not today, no. Isn’t she usually with you?”

“She wasn’t in our tent,” he mutters as he lets her go and continues to walk.

“Bellamy?” she calls after him.

He keeps walking. He thinks something has gone desperately wrong when he hears the morning guard talking with the night guard about an abnormality with the gate.

He interrupts quickly. “What happened?”

The night guard, Adam, explains quickly. “We were doing our rounds, and we heard the gate open, so we came to have a look, but when we got here, no one was around. We closed it immediately, but we don’t know why it was opened. We searched the whole camp for intruders, but we didn’t find anything.”

For only a second does Bellamy consider she’s run away. He knows she hasn’t. Not only would she not leave in only a t-shirt (she wasn’t even wearing her bra), but more importantly, he knows she wouldn’t leave him. Not again.

He swallows. “Any sign of someone leaving?”

Adam shrugs. “There were some footsteps immediately outside the gate, but we didn’t think anything of it.”

He knows what’s happened.

His breathing starts to deepen, and he knows it’s not good to be getting so little oxygen, but he can’t make it stop.

“I need you to – are you sure? – Adam, you didn’t see Clarke?”

Adam looks at him with concern. “Bellamy, are you okay?”

He’s not. His sight has started to blur, and he can’t control his breathing, and his chest is so tight it’s starting to hurt because she can’t be _gone,_ not when she’s means as much to him as she does.

He braces his hands against his knees, and shakes his head; he has to think clearly, he has to get her.

He feels a hand grasp his forearm, and it tethers him, brings him back to reality.

It’s Abby. “Bellamy, what’s happened?”

He’s glad her tone is smooth, that there’s no panic in it, because he thinks he would start to spiral again if someone else thought there was something wrong, too.

He looks up at her, then straightens, one arm wrapped around his middle.

“I think someone’s taken Clarke,” he says (though it actually comes out at a whisper).

He does see the panic on Abby’s face this time, but she must see it on his, too, because she composes her features quickly.

“Why do you think that?”

“She left her shoes in out tent; she hasn’t got on her hunting clothes.”

If Abby is startled to hear Bellamy and Clarke are that intimately familiar with each other, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she nods in thought.

“The gate was opened last night, Abby,” he says, and her eyes flick back up to his.

“What? When?”

Adam tells her the story again, and now she seems to take Bellamy seriously.

“We’ll send out a search party right away. Bellamy, I’ll let you know as soon as we hear –“

“ _No,_ I am not _waiting_ here.”

Abby concedes quickly.

He is the one to find her. She’s not far from the edge of the clearing in which Arkadia is established, but his heart stops when he sees her.

She’s tied to a tree, her feet touching the ground but her body slumped, her head lolled to one side, and one arm tied outwards, mangled and bloodied.

She’s unconscious, and he puts his arms around her and orders those with him to cut the ropes. She falls against him, and he grunts as he picks her up.

“Put her arm on her,” he says to whomever is closest to him.

They pick up her bloody arm and lay it on her body, and Bellamy begins to walk back to camp quickly. At the gates people gasp, and Clarke still hasn’t woken up properly (except to mumble “Bellamy?” and fall unconscious again), so he rushes her straight to the infirmary, Abby behind him.

When there, he sets her down on the table, and Abby shoves him to the side so she can see Clarke’s arm.

Another person has appeared, and Abby orders him to get her what she needs. Abby flushes the cuts with water, and Clarke wakes with a scream, her body shivering and sweaty. Bellamy is at her side in an instant, holding her hand, smoothing her hair from her face, whispering to her that he’s there and she’s okay now.

Abby makes a noise that has Bellamy turning to her quickly.

“It’s a word,” she says, her voice hard with fury but still full of emotion, and Bellamy dreads to read it.

It’s worse than he thought.

_Wanheda._

Clarke turns her head to read it, and Bellamy is so shocked that he doesn’t try to stop her. She whips her head away, her eyes closed, disgust on her face, but Bellamy can’t pry his eyes away from her arm.

Abby begins working again, cleaning the wound and dressing it. When it’s covered with a bandage, Bellamy finally looks at Clarke’s face, and she’s looking at him.

She looks so sad, and he doesn’t know what to say to her to make her feel better.

When Abby’s done, she holds Clarke’s other hand. “It’s going to scar.”

Clarke smiles a tight-lipped smile. “What’s a few more?”

Silence descends, and Bellamy tightens his grip on Clarke’s hand. He presses a kiss to her wrist and she turns to look at him, while Abby turns away.

He wants to ask if she’s okay, but instead asks, “What are you thinking?”

She hesitates and looks to the bandage. She pulls her hand from his and runs it lightly over the bandage.

“It’s so ugly,” she whispers. He wipes a tear from her face. “It’s all I’ll ever be. A murderer.”

He wants to disagree, wants to shout that she’s not a murderer, that even if she is, she’s not the only one, and even more, he wants to tell her that she’s beautiful no matter what.

Instead, he tells her what she’s been and what she will be. “You’re wrong,” he says, gently, his hand on her cheek. “You’re a leader. You are a strong, loyal leader. You’re a beautiful friend,” he smiles at her, “a kind lover,” he kisses her softly, “a great doctor. One day you’ll get to be an amazing wife, and an even better mother. You are _so_ much more than what you think you are, Clarke.”

He kisses her again and when he pulls away, she asks if he can take her home.

Despite their day, he smiles at her brightly.

_Home._

 

 

 


End file.
